


Help Me (I'm Losing My Mind)

by Therapeutic_Steter



Series: Prompt Fics [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, abusive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: archercrow asked: An Au from 3B, the Nemeton is giving Stiles nightmares, panic attacks, and darker hallucinations than what the what was on the show, but Peter is the one that comforts and brings Stiles back to reality, because he knows that type of mental anguish.





	Help Me (I'm Losing My Mind)

“Stiles.”

“In here, dad,” Stiles called out, putting together a sandwich for dinner. Not particularly healthy, but he could eat it with one hand while he tried to do some more research with the Pack.

“Stiles.”

Stiles frowned, turning to look at his dad standing in the opening between the kitchen and the living room.

“Yeah, pops?” He asked.

His dad looked…off. His eyes were blank as he stared Stiles down. Stiles abandoned his sandwich, turning to wipe his hands off.

“You want me to do something?”

“Yeah. I want to you quit being such a worthless son.”

Stiles flinched like he’d been struck, eyes widening in shock as he stared at his dad. The man’s face was cold, empty.

“Wha…Dad?” he asked.

“All you do is lie, sneak out, get involved in trouble. I should’ve never let you mother talk me into having you. She had to die just to get away from you. Just pathetic.”

Stiles was shaking. He couldn’t hear anything but the words out of his dad’s mouth. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

“I’m done.”

His dad lifted his gun from his side, pointing it directly at Stiles’ chest.

…

Stiles gasped as he awoke, wanting to scream but unable to get air in his lungs. It was too quiet, too dark, the covers too much. He kicked at the sheets, scrambling to sit up, to get away. His heart beat wildly and he couldn’t help but watch the door in fear, waiting for his dad to come in and finish the job.

_No. It was a dream. A dream_ , he repeated in his mind. His hands were trembling. He curled them into his lap, forcing them to still as he wheezed for air. He pulled his legs closer to his chest, hiding his face against his knees and breathing slowly.

_Just a dream._

…

Stiles was jittery the next day, startling at every sudden sound and eyes flittering around, never staying on one object too long. He earned himself detention when he wasn’t unable to answer Harris’ question because he was too busy focusing on still breathing. Scott gave him a sympathetic look but didn’t offer to wait until after detention for him so they could hang out as planned. Stiles would’ve felt disappointed if this wasn’t a near daily occurrence.

The halls were eerily empty when he left detention. All that ran through Stiles’ mind was the many times he’d found himself running down these halls for his life. Literally.

Stiles jerked to a stop when he heard a clicking sound behind him. Like claws on tile. He glanced behind him, heart beat racing. _I’m just imagining things_ , he assured himself, staring down the halls that were already dark, looking for movement. He waited just a few more moments before moving. He froze again though when the clicking started up, only to pause when he did.

_It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing_ , he chanted, looking around him. How many scary movies started with the lone guy getting murdered? Was he in the first five minutes of a Supernatural episode? Oh god, he was going to die.

Stiles’ eyes widen when the shadows moved, red eyes glowing in the darkness. He took off down the hall, sprinting faster than he ever had for Coach during lacrosse, fighting back the wave of panic as the clacking of claws grew louder, closer. He could make out hungry growls from the wolf along with its heaving breaths as it raced after him.

_Please, please, please_ , he begged, turning the corner and staring at the exit, still so far. The wolf scratched against the ground not quite able to make the turn as fast, and Stiles made an instant stupid decision to duck into an empty classroom instead of keeping on running. It wasn’t like he’d be able to outrun an Alpha anyways.

Stiles flipped the lock, crawling under the desk and digging his phone from his pocket. He tried for Scott.

“We’re sorry, but—”

He hung up, fighting the urge to bang his head against the desk. He was going to die and Scott couldn’t answer his damn phone.

“Anyone, anyone, anyone,” Stiles prayed. His dad? No, he couldn’t risk his dad getting hurt. Derek? The guy had a penchant for breaking phones one the near-daily. He shivered when the scratching reached the door.

Peter? Stiles would’ve laughed, but the loud thump at the door telling of a heavy force running into it made his decision for him and he pressed ‘call’.

“Stiles,” Peter purred, thankfully answering.

“Oh god, please help, I’m going to die,” Stiles whisper-yelled, whimpering when another thump hit the door. “Please please please, there’s an Alpha and I’m going to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t know who to call, please don’t be a dick and help me.”

Stiles could hear Peter moving, the clang of keys music to his ears. “Where are you?” He asked, thankfully not playing around.

“The school. I had detention and Scott left and he won’t answer his phone and god _dammit_!” he squeaked, the door making a worrying cracking noise. “Peter, please, it’s going to kill me,” he cried, tears rolling down his face. He was supposed to be the one with the plan, but he just couldn’t. He was a human running with wolves and he was going to die and he was way too young to die. He didn’t have a plan, couldn’t think of anything beyond his rapid heartbeat and the panic attack that may just kill him before the wolf at the door had a chance.

“Calm down, Stiles. I’m coming. I’ll be there in five minutes. Okay? Just five minutes. Breath for me, Stiles,” Peter soothed over the phone, surprisingly level-headed about this whole mess.

“I-I. I. I can’t,” Stiles stuttered, gasping for breath. “Peter,” he whimpered.

“Breathe, Stiles,” Peter demanded.

“There’s an Alpha werewolf trying to eat me; the least of my concerns is breathing!” Stiles shouted, freezing suddenly when he realized the room was quiet.

“Stiles?”

“Shhh,” Stiles shushed, terror paralyzing him. He couldn’t control his shaking and almost started crying all over against when he realized he’d actually wet himself. He trembled, scared and embarrassed and confused and he just didn’t know what was going on.

“Stiles, I’m at the school,” Peter murmured quietly into his ear. “I’m coming in the doors now.” Stiles heard the distant sound of the doors opening. He bit back a sob.

Footsteps came down the hall before pausing out the door. They tried the knob and it caught, still locked.

“Stiles? I need you to unlock the door.”

“But…the Alpha?” Stiles asked, voice cracking.

“It’s not here,” Peter assured.

“I…I heard it. Saw it. I swear! It was…It was chasing me and it hit the door and…and I…”

“It’s gone,” Peter answered delicately.

Stiles’ lower lip trembled and he hide his face, mortification singing through his veins.

“Do you…Can you…Was it real?”

Peter was silent.

“Peter. Was it real?” Stiles demanded, standing out from the desk and stalking to the door, unlocking it and throwing the door open. Peter stood before him, looking a bit caught off-guard, watching him with uncertain eyes. Stiles looked at the clean door, then down the hall at the scratch-free floor. He shivered, doing his best to ignore the wet stain in his pants, the utter humiliation of having called the one pack member who’d probably make this a hundred times worse, to ignore how shaky he felt. His eyes stung with tears. “I can’t…I  _saw_ it,” he stressed.

“I know, sweetheart,” Peter murmured. He gently reached out, taking the phone still in Stiles’ frozen grip and turning it off, putting it in his own pocket. Then he brushed against his shoulder, grip steady and sure. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

Stiles nodded, unable to meet Peter’s gaze. Luckily, the man didn’t commit, instead leading Stiles out the school acting as a calm presence for Stiles to anchor himself on.

“I’ll drive you home,” Peter said, gently steering him away from his jeep and towards the only other car in the parking lot. He’d double-parked by the entrance, engine still idling. Stiles felt another wave of emotion well up at the visible proof of Peter’s concern and hurry to get to him.

“I can’t…I…My jeep,” he tried, hesitating.

“I’ll run back and bring it to you before morning,” Peter promised.

“But…I…” Stiles looked down at his pants, ashamed. Peter brushed against his back, hands gentle as he offered a jacket wordlessly. Stiles took it gingerly, almost bursting into tears again.

“It’s okay.”

Stiles sniffled, wiping his eyes brutishly and laying the jacket on the seat before sitting down on it. He barely moved the entire trip, feeling drained and overwhelmed.

When they got to his house, Stiles shuffled through the door. Peter followed him in.

“Go take a shower. I’ll make you something warm to eat,” Peter said.

Stiles nodded without words, going upstairs and grabbing some clothes before locking himself in the bathroom. He refused to think about anything other than the next step. Walk forward, strip out of his dirty clothes, step into the hot water. Soap, rag, shampoo. Rinse.

He stood under the hot water until it ran cold before finally shutting it off. He watched it run down the drain, mind blank, before grabbing the towel to dry off as the air chilled his skin. Then he pulled on the sweatpants and shirt he’d grabbed, slowly creeping out of the bathroom and ducking into his room.

Peter came upstairs just a few moments later, knocking lightly on the door. He held a bowl of soup in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

Stiles felt tears well up all over again. He was tired. Drained. And possible losing his mind.

“It’s okay,” Peter said, placing the bowl and bottle on the table before moving to wipe Stiles’ tears away. They just kept coming though and he was just so  _tired._

“I’m sorry,” Stiles managed to get out, hiccupping, barely able to breathe through his clogged up nose. “I’m being ridiculous. I’m going crazy.”

“No, you’re not. You’re tired and currently haunted by whatever ritual Doctor Shady talked you into performing,” Peter refuted, fingers combing through his hair.

Stiles snorted, tears broken by a short chuckle. “‘Doctor Shady’?” he asked, peeking up at the other man.

Peter smirked, looking pleased. “Tell me you don’t think the same.”

Stiles shrugged, slowly coming back to himself, though he was still a little shaky. He felt weak, exhausted. “I didn’t realize anyone else questioned that guy.”

Peter rolled his eyes, though the look of his face read as fond. “Eat your soup,” he ordered, handing Stiles the warm bowl.

Stiles hummed, slowly spooning the warm broth into his mouth. He leaned against the headboard, shuffling over nonchalantly and glancing over at Peter before looking down at the space beside him. Peter huffed but sat down, pulling off his shoes before moving to sit beside him. He was a line of warmth at his side, a steady anchor for Stiles to lean against.

When Stiles finished, Peter traded him for the bottle of water, which Stiles chugged. Then he leaned against Peter’s side, closing his eyes and just breathing.

“I swear it was there,” Stiles murmured. “I could hear it, see it. Fuck, I could practically  _feel_  it breathing down my back.”

“I believe you,” Peter said, words spoken quietly, vehemently, into Stiles’ hair.

“I’m scared,” Stiles admitted, curling just a little closer to Peter’s side.

“We’ll fight this,” Peter promised, arm wrapping around Stiles’ shoulders and holding him close.

“Will you stay? Until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath, eyes closed and slowly releasing the tension in his body. It would be a long time before he was better, but for now, things were okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a prompt on [tumblr](https://therapeutic-steter.tumblr.com/)!


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